We are oceans
by a red burn
Summary: Felicity knew she shouldn't have accepted Oliver's offer to train with her.
1. one

**_Notes_**: SO. I completely changed my idea about this fanfic. This is the original, with the angsty ending and another follow up chapter. Then I decided to end it on a happy note because I wasn't sure if I was going to continue with it. Then I got a review that made me think ah the hell with it. I can finish this one. So here it is, the half changed fanfic. I'm still considering whether to turn this into a multi chapter or just leave it as it is (woe is me). I think this one is more in character too. I apologise for any confusion and I hope you still like this version better.

This is unbeta-ed so any mitakes are mine. Feel free to point out any errors so I can correct them!

Title from The Pierces' We Are Stars

_We are oceans  
__Being controlled by the pull of one another_

_xxxx_

"Watch your shoulders, you're telegraphing."

Felicity frowns at him, relaxes the hand she was about to close in a fist and takes a step back away from him. She's supposed to train with Diggle, she thinks and the voice in her head sounds too much like a petulant child. Oliver is rough, violent and his demands are more than she's used to. She thinks back to when Diggle warned her not to accept Oliver's offer and chastises herself for thinking that if she trained with Oliver she'd learn more. He doesn't hold back, Diggle had said. He doesn't go soft; he doesn't remember you're inexperienced.

If only she had listened.

"This isn't fun at all." Her voice comes out in a complaint and she takes a deep breath to hold back her frustration and pretends she hasn't lost count of how many times her face has been acquainted with the mat. "I don't know how to fight. I've never been into any fights! I'm a geek! I rewire things, I write computer codes. I don't hit people! Your psycho ex-girlfriend had no efforts into-" she interrupts herself when her brain registers the words she's just said and Felicity's eyes go wide as her mouth shuts in a tight line. _Crap_. "Sorry."

Oliver seems to consider her words, but his face doesn't tighten and his eyes don't turn hard and she takes it as a good sign; something pass over them, though, an emotion she can't capture quickly enough, maybe a memory that flashes in his eyes but are gone too fast. "You have to stop thinking about what you're going to do and just do it," he says instead of harsh words about things not being any of her business and she relaxes. "The longer you spend considering your options, the easier it is for me to read you." Oliver takes a fake long stride towards her, causing Felicity to jump back and glare at him.

"How am I supposed to hit you if I don't _think_ about it?" How is she supposed to even concentrate on how she should hit him when he's shirtless and sweaty and his pants are riding so low around his waist that she has to force her eyes up on his face instead of his naked torso and exposed hipbones and all the things her body screams at her to do to him?

"Use your instincts." Her instincts constantly tell her she should remove any remaining piece of clothing from his body, but she isn't about to obey to that. This time Oliver takes a quick step in her direction, reaching out his right hand to grab her arm, but Felicity moves around the mat avoiding his move. "Don't let me crowd you. Don't let me get close enough unless you're ready."

His words hit a familiar chord and she tries not to think how they mean something else to her. How she's been trying so hard to ignore her increasing need to be close to him, to pull the long hours and often sleepless nights, endure moods and crises just to be around. It isn't all that bad though, because she's noticed she can make him smile, that while fighting a war they have become the only people they can really count on and when he isn't brooding and shifting the heavy weight on his shoulders he's charming and funny and _happy_.

"Circle through my outside," he says interrupting her thoughts and she copies his movements, keeping her eyes on him and watching for every change in his position. She manages to dodge his attack, jumping to her right but as she readies herself for her own attack against him he anticipates her move, grabbing her arm and twisting it around her body, his other arm locking her neck in a stranglehold.

"Umpf!" She loses her breath when he pulls her body against his with more violence than is strictly needed and his chest against her back and his arms around her body keep her from losing balance and meeting the mat again. He's warm and solid and she can feel him through her thin training tank top, his heartbeat against her ribs and his breathing against her ear. It sends a shiver through her body and she prays he doesn't notice the slight increase of her own heartbeat and the soft trembling of her body.

"You're too easy," he says but there's a hint of humor in his voice and Felicity feels a bubble of anger filling her chest. Her brain ignores the way he feels pressed against her, letting the frustration and annoyance take control and while he's distracted thinking he has her defeated again, Felicity twists her arm to free of his hold, turning around and kicking his legs from under him.

She can see the surprise flash in his eyes when she uses her weight to throw him down with her own body, swiftly straddling him and forcing her right arm against his neck until she can feel his windpipe being pressed down. "Gotcha!" The victorious smile that stretches across her face feels too sweet and she does nothing to hide her excitement. She took Oliver Queen down!

"Nice." He nods, tilting his head in acknowledgment and smiles back at her. He's proud, she can tell, and the look on his face fills her chest with something she refuses to admit. It's not like she needs his approval, but doing something that render Oliver surprised makes her feel accomplished, accepted._ Noticed_.

"I totally got you by surprise."

"You're always surprising me."

It's not the response she expects because she thought he'd refuse to admit to defeat. He'd make an excuse, tell her he let her win, or the very least flip her over as easily as if she's as weak and fragile as autumn leaves. He stays there, trapped under her body, his hands somehow resting against her hips without her even noticing he had moved them there, and telling her things that he has to know make her melt.

_You're remarkable._

_Happy Hanukah._

_This bottle of wine is yours._

_You can tell me about your day._

She knows he's just being friendly, trying to show he cares, but she can't help the way her heart leaps at every look and word directed at her, at every moment of attention he gives, every brush of his fingers against her or every smile throw in her direction. She stares down at him, at a loss of words, thinking once again she should have listened to Diggle. Training with him is easy, safe; he's handsome and well-built but her body doesn't respond to him the same way it does to Oliver, and neither does her heart.

Her arm leaves his neck and she splays her palms over his chest, fingers brushing against scars and marks he never talks about and feels his fingers tighten on her hips. Suddenly the air around them changes, it becomes heavier with electricity and she can almost hear it cackles; suddenly the heat between them is almost too hot to bear.

Then she feels something poke between her legs and realizes just _where_ she's straddling him. Her cheeks are suddenly alight with fire and she can barely breathe, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole, cursing herself for being so pale and so stupid and so awkward. In the split second it takes her to realize what's happening, she considers her options, wondering if she'd be able to move off him and pretend nothing happened without feeling like dying every time she sees him.

Her brain screams at her to _move away, move away, move away!_ But her body does something else without her permission. She doesn't mean to do it, _she really doesn't_, but she presses down against him, fingers curling around his shoulders, cheeks in flames, but the pressure between her legs feels so good and his body under her feels so solid and real and _God_, she's wanted to touch him for _so long_.

She expects him to pull her up and off him, to brush this incident as hazards of two very healthy and straight male and female partners training together, to try and ease the situation to not make her more embarrassed than she will make herself. She doesn't expect him to bring a hand to the back of her neck and pull her down, to clash their lips together and kiss her as if he's been yearning to do it for years.

He kisses her with the fervor of a hero leaving for war without the reassurance of coming back alive. Biting and sucking and grasping and groaning, giving himself fully when there's nothing to lose. He doesn't ask for permission to kiss her, lips and tongue meeting hers in anger and she feels the need coming off him in waves. His tongue is warm and his lips firm and _damn_ he knows what he's doing, sweeping her mouth expertly, fingers pulling her hairband off and burying into her wild hair and his other arm sneaking around her waist, pulling her down to him.

Her hand rests against his left cheek in a softer, more restrained touch, feeling his stubble scratch against her palm and she discovers she loves the feeling of his five o'clock shadow against her skin. When he rocks his hips against her she moans into his mouth, losing her train of thought for a second, pulling away to look at him. Desire is pooling in her stomach and his eyes are dark with lust, heavy breathing, swollen lips and pink cheeks. He's something she'd call adorable on most days but right now she's so sexually aware that all she can think about is sex.

She sees the moment he makes a decision, accepting her silence and bewildered expression as the okay for him to go on. He grabs her hips and flips them over, pressing her down on the mat and claiming her mouth again. His hands slide up her legs, pulling them around his hips as he rocks against her again, fingers sneaking under her tank top and she shivers in anticipation, her body eager to feel him go further, to touch places she's been dreaming about being touched by him for longer than she allows herself to admit.

She locks her legs around his hips, adding more friction between them and she feels a jolt of electricity every time his hardness rubs between her legs. She needs their clothes to come off _now_ but her thoughts are interrupted when his hand finds one of her breasts and squeezes it, pinching a nipple between his fingers. She moans again, she can't help it, and her brain goes into sensory overload. She has a half-naked Oliver above her, touching her body in ways she has only dreamed of, rough hands against her skin and his mouth making a trail of kisses and nipping down her neck.

He pulls back with some effort because she doesn't want to let go, but only long enough to remove her tank top leaving only her training bra. It's the direct skin to skin contact and the sudden absence of her clothing that makes her brain _click_.

What the hell is she doing?

"Oliver, stop." She finds that pushing him back isn't so easy because he's kissing every skin of her exposed chest and her body is so relaxed from pleasure she can't find the strength to actually push him away. "Oliver!" She says his name in a loud, authoritative tone, hoping it will be enough to bring his attention back.

"You want me to stop _now_?" He's almost in disbelief and she uses the opportunity to shove him off her and stand before she can change her mind.

"Oh God, I'm so stupid." She spots her top and picks it up, pulling it over her head. "So, so stupid."

"Felicity-"

"I don't know what came over me. This was stupid. I shouldn't – we shouldn't. This is why I should always train with Diggle. This is what my brain warned me about. I'm an idiot and you are an idiot. Oh God." She's almost in tears, looking for her headband before she realizes she doesn't care. Her face's probably flushed, swollen lips and wide eyes and sweaty skin, a wild disheveled hair is the least of her problems.

She never meant for it to happen like this: needy hands and desperate touches, fingertips sinking against scarred skin, printing themselves against marks and wounds, a mind so lost in the heat of urgent kisses she forgets _why_ she can't.

This is Oliver Queen. He's way out of her league. Her boss. The Hood. The last person she should be attracted to. The person Diggle would warn her about for days. The person that would never look at her the way she wants him to, that would see this for what it is: sex and nothing else.

She can't do this, this casual thing. The no strings attached. To wave it off as one great night and keep on working next to him day after day and pretend nothing happened. She wants Oliver for who he is, his moods and his scars and his revenge, his desire to turn this city better, his intelligence and sense of honor, the person he is now and the person he can be.

She wants him and she can't deal, will never be able to deal with his look after everything's done, after the adrenaline has worn off and she has to face reality. A reality in which he doesn't see the two of them together.

"Felicity." He touches her arm, gentle fingers around her wrist and it still makes her jump. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry. I need to go. This was a very bad idea."

"Don't do this," he says and she turns to him, already halfway across the room. "Don't run away."

Yes, she's running away, she's good at that. That's why she prefers computers to people, to complicated people leading to complicated relationships because computers don't take you by surprise, they can't hurt you and disappoint you and turn your life upside down until you're about to puke. If they give you problems you can just recode them and be done with it.

She's scared, terrified of jumping and not having him to catch her. Of being put second to the vigilant and the city and waking up one day to see he got bored. She knows it isn't fair to him, but he isn't in a place where a relationship with her of all people is something he even considers. She isn't his kind of girl. Laurel and McKenna and Helena are proof of that. She knows she's selling herself short, but that's okay because she's always sold herself short.

"This was a mistake. I really need to go. Good night."

She grabs her bag from the desk and doesn't bother to change, almost runs up the stairs, making a quick exit before Oliver has time to follow her. She still catches his face as she's pulling the door close, a hurt expression in his eyes and she feels horrible for leaving him.

You're doing the right thing, she tells herself. For yourself and for him.


	2. two

_**Notes:**_ Here's chapter 2 finally up. I hoped to have this up earlier and it was intended to be from Oliver's point of view, but it just wasn't working. Halfway through the chapter I realized that there was no point in continuing and restarted the whole thing from Felicity's pov. It has a happier ending and hopefully will leave everyone satisfied. I do have a few ideas for their date so if you like it and are interested in reading more, please review and let me know :) Otherwise I think this is a good place to end, yes? :)

Thanks Poetgirl925 for the beta job! :)

xxx

Two days. That's how long he takes to show up at her office, that's how long she fiddles, how long she chastises herself for her stupidity and wishes she could curl up in a hole and never come out. She needs time to think, to sort her emotions out because feelings are so much more difficult to deal with and she's never been good with them in the first place. She needs time to accept what she's done, what _they_ had done and be in a place where she can face Oliver without feeling completely mortified.

She's missed it, being there, being around him, helping make the city a better place. She hadn't realized what a boring, quiet, colorless life she had been leading before Oliver Queen came looking specifically for her. Before blood stained car seats, fresh wounds and cracked knuckles became a part of her days, a part of herself, almost as if the thrill of the danger, the satisfaction of justice done and excitement of lives saved had been imprinted in her cells, had become part of her DNA.

She knows that even when they find Walter she won't be able to simply walk away.

Like an addiction, it's hard for her to go back to normal when she experienced what _extraordinary _could be. And she needs it back. Needs the high, the adrenaline, even the stress of being worried about Oliver's well-being every minute he's out there, needs to be part of something good again. Needs to be part of his life, however small it may be. She can't risk losing it for a stupid crush, for something that can end in disaster, something that can go so badly she'll never be able to work with them again. How can she go back to being the IT girl after having him in her bed?

"Felicity?"

His voice, smooth like velvet, makes her jump, and it affects her the same way it always does, fingers going still and she freezes in her seat. Her body comes alive as if responding to his presence, all shaking hands and quivering stomach and she has trouble finding her voice. "Oliver!" She can't help the blush that covers her face and she curses herself for it.

"You haven't answered any of my calls."

Right. The dozen or so time he's called on her cell and she either ignored or simply let it ring until he gave up. She didn't know what to say so she didn't pick up. "I'm really busy, sorry."

"You haven't called back."

"Busy." She points to the monitor running one of her random updates and hopes he hasn't learned much from watching in the foundry every day to see she's far from busy. Just avoiding him.

"You're avoiding me."

Touché. "I'm _not_ avoiding you!" She tries to sound outraged but her voice is shaking and she sounds more like a child caught with the hand in the cookie jar. "I'm busy. Unlike our extra-curricular activities, which I'm not paid for by the way, I do have a day job that requires me to actually work. Not that I would charge for kissing you, obviously, who would do that!" She slaps her hand over her mouth in an attempt to stop talking, wishing there's a way to take the words back, because the last thing she wants is to bring the focus of the conversation to the fact she had her tongue in Oliver's mouth and his hands under her shirt just a couple of days ago.

He had felt good, of course, muscles pulsing a she ran her hands over them and she can't ignore the way their hips had fit so perfectly, the way his hands are the right size to cup her breasts and his lips felt like they belonged while pressing against her skin.

She's sure the red tint of her cheeks will never leave and the sudden desire pooling in the pit of her stomach makes her feel fidgety. This is exactly what she didn't want, to be reminded of what she almost had, of how good he is with his hands and mouth, of the way Oliver's a complicated and wonderful person in every context of the words.

As if he's reading her mind and suddenly knows all of her thoughts, he lets small smile play at the corner of his lips, takes a step in her direction and almost crowds her. She has to look up to stare at him. "Go out with me."

"You know I can't." She feels sucker punched at the way his face immediately falls, at the way the little gleam in his eyes and the hope swimming in them change to disappointment. He looks _crushed_. She can't because he can't give her what she wants, because she can't be what he wants, because when she's in, then she's all in. She can't because she isn't willing to sacrifice greatness for a moment of self-indulgence. She can't go on a date with him and show him who she really is, to give him the opportunity to know her on personal level and be disappointed, see that there's nothing else beyond the geek persona.

"It's just one date. What's the harm in that? I like you, Felicity. You're beautiful and smart and capable and…" he sighs, takes a deep breath and his eyes cloud over as if he's remembering something and she sees the moment he makes a decision. "The first time I saw you, you mocked me. You made me smile an honest, real smile. Not a front I was putting up for everyone else so they'd believe I was okay. You make me smile, Felicity, and I like that."

She feels a small crack in the armor. "Oliver…" she's at a loss for words, stuck in turmoil, between being logical and sensible and responsible and between just throwing caution to hell and giving in to what her heart is yelling at her to do. She can't do this now. She needs to think, she needs to calculate, she needs _time_. The words drawl out of her mouth like needles, "I can't. I…" It hurts her to say it as much as it hurts him to hear it.

He takes a deep breath, the sound knifing through the sudden silence of the room, through her pause as she tries to find the right words to say. "Fine. If you're not willing to give this a chance then at least come back to the foundry. We need you._ I_ need you, Felicity. I can't lose you this way."

He sounds defeated, annoyance hidden somewhere under the tired acceptance as he makes one last request. She can feel the hope oozing from his pores, drifting towards her like the spicy cologne he always uses. She doesn't miss the way he shifts his weight on his feet, the awkwardness of his words fading into the raw need in his voice. She realizes then that he can have any girl he wants. He can literally walk out of this building with at least a dozen phone numbers, but it's her he's begging to come back. It's in her office he stands looking like something has been ripped out of him and he needs to put it back. It's her he wants, this boring, bland and geeky IT girl who babbles about fifty times a day, who puts her foot in her mouth more often than not, who's awkward and socially inept and disagrees with everything he says. He has to like the geek persona and not the expectation of there being something else.

Her resolve starts to falter.

"Is this your way of saying you miss me?" She expects him to be nonchalant, to roll his eyes, to throw a witty comeback at her, to copy her words from so long ago, but he goes completely off script.

"Yes."

That's it; she can almost hear the rest of her walls cracking, crumbling around her as she's enveloped by his utter honesty. She realizes that underneath all the fear and apprehension she really wants this. She wants them. "Okay."

The relief in his face is evident and it almost makes her smile, but she bites her lip instead.

"Good." Then he adds as an afterthought to seemingly soften the mood, "Diggle would've killed me."

This time she does smile, but the movement of her lips is followed by the roll of her eyes. "I meant the date." That catches his complete attention. "Okay. I'll go out with you."

He looks dumbstruck and she notices he's momentarily speechless, as if he had decided this was already a lost war. He recovers quickly though, giving her a smile she's come to learn is honest and real and hers. "Tomorrow? I'll pick you up at 7?"

"7:30," she throws back, still not willing to be completely compliant. She wants to make him work for it.

He rolls his eyes. "You really are a piece of work."

"And you like it this way." She doesn't mean to say it out loud but the words escape her lips before she has time to think. She feels the heat sweep up her cheeks again and chastises herself for not knowing how to flirt without being completely embarrassed by it.

"Wouldn't change a thing." There's something in his voice that tugs at her heartstrings, something she can't quite define, but she's soon distracted by his piercing gaze and the soft way he's looking at her. She looks away first, hoping the pink hue has left her face. She wonders if he has ever looked at her that way before or if their kiss sparked something in him. "I'll see you tonight. At the foundry."

She nods at his pointed words, knowing he'll expect her back, relieved that the weight has lifted from her shoulders and the distance of these past two days is finally over. When he leaves, she finally allows herself to take a deep breath and process that the hope she's been grasping at for so many months has just turned into something real and tangible.

She can't shake the giddy feeling away.


End file.
